The Londonderry sifter. (South Londonderry, Vt.) 1883-19??, 1887-04-07

owned lot in the old churchyard, and
it was the most convenient place for the
inte=msrt,o the poor victims of the
mishap.
There they lay, sido by side, their
graves marked only by rude stone
crosses, inscribed simply by the name
and death date of each sleeper.
And Mary felt that her heart was
broken and lifelcss within her forever.
Nonsense Mrs. Yorke had said.
"It won't last-nothing lasts. Why,
had just such experience when I was a
gal. There was Abe Alexon, as drove
tin-peddler's wagon, the likcliest fellow
you ever set eyes on. Me and him was
as good as engaged, but VIC had spat
and parted, and the very next week he
fell over Kings Cross Cliff Of dark
night and was killed. Bless you, I felt
as if the whole world had come to an
end but here l be now married to Hiram
Yorkc, and as happy as most folks.
Hiram amt perfection. to be sure, but
Abe was pretty partial to old rye, too,
or he'd never have drove his old horse
over Kings Cross Cliff instead O round
it. And I reckon things apays happens
for the best, take one year with an
other" contcntcdly added the stout ma
tron, as she stirred sauccpanful of
onions with a ponderous tin spoon, while
Mary Folyott WINGED at the unpalatable
parallel.
What was there in common between
handsome Hugh Derby and the luckless
hero who, once on time, peddled tin
and drank too much3
The mullins were baked, the eggs fried
to the exact shade of golden brown, and
the breakfast for "the gentleman in
Number Nineteen" safely off her mind,
when Mary Folyott stole down to the
graveyard once more, with a basket of
delicious white rhododcndrons, which q
little colored girl had just brought her
from the woods.
81 done knowed yo' loved white po-
sizes, missee," said Cora Anne, who was
in Miss Folyotts class at Sunday school,
$50 done brung yo' desc var"
1t was golden noontide now; the clus-
ters of sweet fern exhaling aromatic
scents; the COWS standing in the shadow
of hazel copses; the ocean sparkling like
plain of blue diamonds.
The task Of decorating the graves
for which Kings Cross usually turned
out with band, covered wagon, and
a concoursc OF Struggling villagers
would not commence until three o'clock.
"Thcy shall see that he has not been
forgotten" said Mary, as she toiled along
under the bowery apple branches, and
past the ripping music Of the little
brook. ooh, Hugh-my Hugh-if only
l could recall one short hour of the
pastw
She strewed the white rhododendrons
on the green sod, as the words escaped
involunta'ily from her lips.
ooh, Hugh-dcar Hugh-if could
only speak to you once again!" she
uttered, aloud.
"Speak, then, dearest Maryl My
Mary, if were indeed dead and in
heaven, think l could not be happier
than am now."
The basket Of rhod odendrons fell tc
the ground. Mary Folyott wou have
fallen, too, il she had not been caught
in pair of strong arms.
Darling Mary, do not turn SO whiter'
pleaded her lover. 81 am not a ghost,
no phantoml ! am Hugh Derby's self,
alive and well, come back to lay my heart
at your feet, and claim the love that is
! so precious to me. 1t isn't SO impossi-
bic as you think. Pm not dead, and
never have been dead. But the poor
! fellow who had the bed next to mine ir
the Accident Ward of the st. Monica.
Hospital, died the night they brought
him in, and the cards at our bed-hcad.
got accident,y changed. was No. 4
and when my number was affixed
to another bed, lost my
identity at once. We are no
Smith or Brown in hospital,
Mary-we are only Six or Four, as the
case may be. So when poor Maurice
Blenheim died, in the bed labelled 4,
they turned to their books and made ou
a burial certificate for Hugh Derby, ont
of the victims Of the railroad accident
Aud before recovered from the brar
fever that followed on the blow | re-
ceived from the end of the car seat wher
l fell they had me duly buried with al
the honors of book and bill. couldn'
make 'em believe that was Hugh Der.
by, and not Maurice Bicnheim, and 81
left eff trying. And, after all, wha
did it matter much9 What charm has
life left for me2"
'But, Hugh, loved you"
"But, Msry, l did not know it; anC
so l dawdled away the sunshiny hours oI
those sweet Fioridian shores, thinkin;
how strange it felt to be wanderin!
alone, like a disembodicd spirit, withou
any identity at all, and half disposed t.
wonder for what especial use God haC
given me back my life, when all of
sudden the strong desire came upon mi
to travel northward to Kings Cross-t
look upon my own grave. Mary, / be
lieve to heaven it was your love attract
ing me like an invisible magnet. Sweet
heart, you have brought me back to yo,
and now never shall go away withou
you"
81 don't want you tor whispered
Mary Folyott, her soft cheeks suffuse
I l. L